


Short MTMTE/LL Stories

by ShiTiger



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Character death suggested, Crossover/Fusion, Gen, Humor, M/M, The Guiding Hand - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 07:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiTiger/pseuds/ShiTiger
Summary: Short MTMTE and LL ficlets, many involving Rung/Primus. Inspired by fanart on tumblr, and original ideas. (Ch 6: Skids brings back Rung's memories... but now the psychiatrist thinks he's Primus)





	1. Healing Tears

_Inspired by a picture on tumblr by koroa_

* * *

 

“Okay, Ring.  How in the pit did you do that?” Rodimus demanded, gaping at the dorky therapist in shock. 

“I… I have no idea,” the orange-plated mech answered honestly.  The glasses he clutched in his other hand trembled slightly. 

“Sooo… what are we talking about?” Skids asked, sitting up to flash the group a cheerful grin.

“Rong just brought you back to life!” announced Rodimus, throwing his servos in the air dramatically.

“It’s true,” Tailgate agreed.  “You died, and he was crying over your corpse, and then you started glowing gold, and your spark relit, and…”

“And you were brought back from the beyond,” Cyclonus finished gruffly, placing a comforting hand on the minibot’s shoulder.

‘Wait… I was dead?” The theoretician put a hand over his chest, focusing on the gentle pulse that his spark was giving off.

“Yes, my dear, Skids.  You were very much gone,” Rung admitted, smiling timidly from where he was kneeling next to the bigger mech on the floor.

“You really are a mech of many talents, Rung!  Thank Primus you were here!” Skids declared, throwing his arms around the lithe mech.  After a few moments, he felt the therapist return the hug gently. 

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Rung whispered, clutching his friend close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Nautica and the others were there, too. It may not have fully matched the comic, as I’m in the process of re-reading it, and haven’t gotten to this part yet.


	2. Vosian Firestorm!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a recent idea I posted to tumblr about Vosian Star and the Vosian Warriors! Sailor Moon AU. Chromedome meets a Rewind who is more than he seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated January 2019. Sorry Bumblebee, but Minimus took your job, and Nickel took his :)

_Setting: Transformers MTMTE, Volume 5. When they are captured by Tyrest._

* * *

“I can get us out of here,” the new Rewind announced, glaring at the energy bars keeping them in the cell.

“Rewind…” Chromedome sighed, gazing sadly at the minibot that reminded him of his lost conjunx endura.

“It’s fine.  Just promise you’ll keep this a secret,” the little mech smiled, blinking his blue visor like a wink.  Fishing something out of his subspace, he held it aloft. 

“Vosian star power, upgrade!”

Firey energy erupted from the strange red object in his hand, engulfing the minibot in flames.  As the other mechs watched in horror and amazement, the flames began to part, hinting at a dark body that was much taller and slimmer than the little mech has been.  The crimson energy surged again, covering Rewind’s new body in rather revealing red armor.

“Vosian Firestar has arrived!  In the name of Mortilus, my guardian god, I will chastise those who imprisoned us here!” the winged vosian announced, striking a pose.

“You look amazing!” Tailgate couldn’t help squealing.

“Thank you.  Although where I’m from… you can do this, too,” the flier chuckled, turning around to poke him playfully on the helm.  The minibot’s blue visor widened in awe.

“Firestorm!”

Every mech in the room turned to see the flamboyant group of fliers now hovering beyond the energy bars.

“We’re here to rescue you!”  A blue, red, and white armored flier pushed himself to the front of the group, only to stare wide-eyed at the little dainty-legged minibot next to Firestorm.  “Wait, I’m me.  So how can I be there, too?”

“We’re clearly in another dimension,” the golden flier next to him exclaimed.  “I’m right over there, as well.” He pointed at Minimus Ambus.

“So weird,” the blue one said.  “I don’t see Thunderstorm or myself in there.”

“Don’t worry, Nickel.  Maybe our other selves are out there beating up the bad guys!” the green one announced proudly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“If you say so, Swerve,” the blue flier answered.

“Wait… Swerve?” Rodimus asked, raising a brow.

“Slag,” the green flier sighed.  “Yeah, I’m Swerve, but I’m also known as Vosian Thunderstorm, the muscle of the group.”

“I’m Nickel,” said the blue flier, “but in this form I’m Vosian Icestorm, the brains of the group.”

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Chromedome groaned, sinking down onto the bench to cradle in head in his hands.

“We’re minibots that were chosen by Primus and his celestial brothers to fight the evil forces of darkness.  Oh, and I’m Vosian Star.  But you can also call me, Tailgate,” the tri-colored flier said, winking at them.  “We’re searching for the Star Prince, the son of Primus himself.  But the evil king Megatron and his minions have been attacking Cybertronians to absorb their energy.”

“Alright, guys.  Stand back.  I’ll be getting us out of here,” Firestorm suddenly announced, raising a finger to the ceiling.  Optics widening, the other fliers dove out of the way as fire erupted from the red vosian’s fingertip.  Drawing a circle of flame in the air around his body, he shouted, “Burning… Mandala!”

The flame hovered in the air, before surging into his servos, which were now cupped together in front of his body.  The fire energy absorbed into his palms, only to shoot out in crimson rings.  The energy bars were no match for his attack, but neither were the walls beyond. 

“Oops,” Firestar laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his helm.  “Well, let’s go everyone!”  As the other mechs in the cell began to filter out, the red-plated flier was stopped by a servo catching his. 

“Rewind… Do you know me?” the visored-mech asked, staring up at him sadly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” Firestar answered.   

“Oh… I see.” The other mech let go, folding back in on himself.

“Did you know the other me?  The one from this dimension?” Firestar asked, kneeling to look the rather attractive mech.  The poor guy seemed heartbroken.

“We were… conjunx endura,” the golden-visored mech admitted.

“WHAT!” Five voices yelled in unison.  The other vosians crowded up to Firestar, staring at the seated mech in wonder.

“Firestorm has a boyfriend! Firestorm has a boyfriend!” Star sang childishly.

“Shut up!” Firestorm snapped at him, trying to hide the clear blush on his dark cheeks.  The flier suddenly felt very exposed; it was much easier to hide his feelings in his regular form, when he had a visor and face mask to keep them hidden.  But then again… the seated mech **was** very handsome.  Lovely, and sad, and clearly in mourning. 

“Give us a moment, guys,” the chosen of Mortilus announced, waving his friends out the charred doorframe.  When they were finally alone, he hunched down to look at the mech again.  “I’m very sorry for your loss.  It is clear that you loved him, and I know that he must have loved you just as much, if not more.  But neither he, nor I, would want a loved one to mourn forever.  Come on.” Firestorm extended his crimson-plated servo, smiling when the other mech took it gently.  Pulling the bigger mech to his feet, the vosian smiled up at him. 

“Once I have returned to my home, I’ll be keeping an eye out for your counterpart.  I’m sure he’s just as sweet at you,” the flier sighed, leaning up to kiss the mech on the cheek.  “Now, we have bad guys to defeat!”

* * *

**Bonus**

“Oh my gosh! Who is that hunky guy?” Star sighed, staring at the purple-plated mech as he fought.

“I thought you were in love with the Masked Warrior,” Thunderstorm said, rolling his green optics.

“I am!  But we’re not officially dating, so I’m free to look,” Star argued back.

“Shouldn’t we join the fight?” interrupted Sunstorm, waving at the battle before them.

“Right!  Vosian warriors, attack!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was much longer than originally planned.  I just love the idea of minibots being more than meets the eye :) 
> 
> Tailgate: Vosian Star, chosen by Primus
> 
> Nickel: Vosian Icestorm, chosen by Epistemus
> 
> Rewind: Vosian Firestorm, chosen by Mortilus
> 
> Swerve: Vosian Thunderstorm, chosen by Adaptus
> 
> Minimus: Vosian Sunstorm, chosen by Solomus
> 
> The Masked Warrior… that’s way too easy to guess


	3. The thing I WISH Rung had done when Adaptus revealed his true identity

“Primus is self-healing! He inspired the Infinites!”

Adaptus was bragging again.  He used to do it quite a bit toward the end of their time together as the Guiding Hand.  Rung shook his head, his inner-most thoughts swirling even as he answered questions from his crew-mates. 

 _Planet-wide memory loss, the Guiding Hand reduced to a myth, and a war that spanned four-MILLION years.  Oh Adaptus, what have you done?_ Primus wasn’t sure when he made the decision that he did, only that it caused him to spin around, his optics narrowed on his younger brother.  Slipping the glasses from his face, he let them drop to the ground, crushing them beneath his pedes as he strode forward.  Stopping inches from his brother’s new form, he raised his hand, and let it fly.

Jaws dropped as everyone in the room watched the therapist slap Adaptus across the face, leaving a trace of orange paint behind.  But no one, it seemed, was more surprised than Adaptus himself.

“Primus!  What the pit?  You’re a pacifist!” the mech shouted, clutching his stinging cheek in amazement.

“Adaptus,” Primus stated firmly, his azure optics narrowed in anger. “You did a **bad thing**.  I am…”

“Don’t say it,” Adaptus groaned.

“Disappointed in you,” the lithe mech finished, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You were always disappointed in me.  All of you were.  My ideas were too radical for your stagnant minds,” Adaptus insisted, glaring over the smaller mech’s head at their gaudy, crown-wearing brother.

“Oh, Adaptus,” Primus sighed, a wry smile crossing his face as he lifted himself onto the tips of his pedes.  Wrapping his lanky arms around the flier’s neck, he snuggled close.  “It is true that we were in agreement that your war-focused ideas would only cause harm to our people — and you do **not** get to deny that those ideas have been the source of _horrible_ things.  But that doesn’t mean we don’t love you.  You’re our brother.  The five of us were once one.  How could we possibly hate you?”

“I hate him,” Tyrest piped up, raising a hand.

“Hush, Solomus.  You’re not helping,” Primus insisted, focusing his attention on the mech he was currently hugging.  “You did a bad thing, Adaptus, and you need to fix it.”

“Fine,” the taller mech grumbled.  His arms tentatively wrapped around the first born, holding him close.

“So… how long is this _hugging_ going to last?  Cause we have a giant Primus to defeat,” Rodimus suddenly interrupted, waving a hand at the enormous mech they could see in the distance.

“And remember — no hurting people.  Find another solution,” Primus Rung stated, stepping back from his brother.  A genuine smile crossed his lips as he listened to Adaptus grumble his agreement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!  I’ve been wanting to write this scene for a while.  And yes, I ship any variation of Adaptus, Primus, and Mortilus together.  Solomus and Epistemus would argue all the time, but would naturally gravitate toward each other. 


	4. To the Past!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus and Tailgate accidentally end up is the VERY distant past. 

“Now where are we?” Rodimus asked aloud, once they’d reached the end of the cavern they’d decided to explore.  A Rewind-sized crack in the far wall allowed them a glimpse of what lay beyond their reach. 

“There’s nothing here.  Just vast emptiness,” Tailgate announced, gesturing to the barren landscape of cold metal that extended beyond the mountains. 

“Boring,” Rodimus groaned. 

“Should we search in another direction?” the minibot asked curiously.

“Might as well.   There’s clearly nothing…”

**“01001000 01100101 01101100 01101100 01101111 00100001”**

The cybertronians spun around, rebooting their optics in shock at the sight of the orange-plated mech standing behind them.  He was both familiar and mysterious at the same time. 

“Is that binary code?” Tailgate asked, tilting his helm.  “I mean, I know what it is, but I’ve never heard it spoken before.”

{Apologies.  I said, Hello,} the slim mech answered, this time speaking in ancient cybertronian. 

“Primal vernacular now?  I haven’t spoken that in thousands of vorns,” Rodimus grumbled, rubbing his forehead. 

“Why are you speaking in ancient cybertronian, Rung?” the minibot asked.

{My designation is not… Rung, little one.  But it is still wonderful to meet you.  I thought I was the only one here,} the lithe mech announced, wrapping Rodimus in an unexpected hug.

“Whoa!  Good to see you, too, Ring.  Getting a little touchy feely there.”  The prime stepped back the moment he was released.  His optics narrowed as the therapist knelt to pull Tailgate close, cuddling him happily.

“I like hugs,” the little blue and white mech decided, returning the embrace.  Glancing over the taller mech’s shoulder, he spotted a pathway in the rock that they clearly hadn’t noticed on their way into the cavern.  Beyond the path lay what appeared to be a pool of liquid metal.  “What is that?”

The therapist stood, turning his gaze to the easily overlooked path within the cavern’s walls.  {That is our birthplace, brothers.  Come.}  Reaching out, he grasped both their servos, and tugged them into the darkness. 

Surprised at the mech’s strength, the pair followed in silence as he led them to the edge of the pool.  The sun glinted down from a jagged opening above, shimmering across the surface of the sentio metallic pool. Tailgate jerked back in shock, wrapping his startled arms around Rodimus’ leg as a long fingered hand burst from the surface of the liquid.  The hand sunk back down, only to be replaced by a robotic head. 

{Another brother!} the therapist cried, clapping his servos in delight.  Reaching out, he grasped the new mech’s now outstretched hand, and helped him onto the ledge overlooking the pool.  Liquid metal dripped off his protoform, even as his azure optics came to focus on Rung.

{I… am… Mortilus,} the newborn cybertronian announced, his voice as smooth as glass.  He spoke his designation as a symbol, rather than a word. 

{Welcome, Mortilus.  I am Primus.  And our brothers are… what WERE your designations again?} the therapist asked, glancing at Rodimus and Tailgate.  The pair were unable to speak, their gazes riveted to the new mech’s face.  As they watched, the liquid metal solidified into proper features, leaving behind a very familiar figure. 

“You’re the necrobot!” the prime suddenly shouted, pointing at the new mech in amazement. 

{What is a necrobot?} the crimson-faced mech asked, glancing at his orange-plated companion. 

{I’m not sure, brother dear.  Oh, and we have another sibling on the way.  How exciting!} All optics focused on the larger mech that was heaving himself out of the silver liquid.  Following closely behind him, two more mechs emerged from the sentio metallic, each with similarly melted features. 

{Greetings.  I am Adaptus,} the now-blue plated mech, with a warrior’s build, announced. He reached out and clasped both Rung and the necrobot by the servos, clearly eager to greet them. 

{My designation is Epistemus,} the mech with the single-opticed face stated.  He did not attempt to shake anyone’s servo, and instead turned his gaze to the mech who had crawled out of the liquid only moments after him

“Tyrest?” Rodimus choked, once the last mech’s features set. 

{No, brother.  My name is Solomus,} the green-plated mech replied, nodding at him.

“Wait… If I’m translating the ancient cybertronian correctly, then they’re…” Tailgate took a deep breath, and pointed at each mech in turn. “Primus, Mortilus, Adaptus, Epistemus, and Solomus.  Rodimus, they’re the Guiding Hand!  Best quest ever!”

“No slaggin’ way,” the prime whispered, slack-jawed.  That meant they had travelled back in time.  WAAAAAAY back in time.  And their ship’s therapist was actually Primus himself.  The necrobot being the god of death wasn’t too much of a stretch, even if he didn’t seem the type to start a god war.  That Adaptus guy though… his chin could put Impactor to shame.  Epistemus reminded him way too much of Shockwave, and Solomus looked exactly like Chief Justice Tyrest, minus the cape and crown.  Must have gotten those later.

{Hello, elder tiny brother.  Come to my arms!}  Adaptus grabbed Tailgate by the waist, and lifted him onto his broad shoulder.  {Now you can see what we see, little one.  We seven shall be known as the Guiding Hand!}

~Did I hit my head or something?  That’s got to be it.  There’s just no way any of this could be true~ thought Rodimus, shaking his head.  A sudden pulse of electricity in the air caught their attention.  A glimmering portal opened behind them, blocking off the passageway even as a familiar scientist stepped through, raising a curious brow at the group before him.

“Geeze, there you are. We were looking for you.  Oh, hey there.” Brainstorm waved at the other five mechs.

{Another brother for the Guiding Hand!} Adaptus shouted, striding forward to clap the scientist roughly on the shoulder.

“Yeah… wait, what?”

“They’re the GUIDING HAND!” Tailgate nearly shouted, practically bouncing on Adaptus’ shoulder.

“Hang on a nano click.” Brainstorm shoved his upper half through the portal, and yanked another minibot into the cavern.  “Quick, camera bot.  Take a picture!”

“My name is Rewind, and you know it,” the little black-plated mech grumbled, but his helm camera shone brightly as he took in the group on the ledge.  “Alright everyone.  Say ‘Optimus Prime!’”

Rodimus rolled his optics, but posed for the camera. 

“Optimus Prime!”

{Optimus Prime!}

{What is an Optimus Prime, and why is that little mech flashing his light at us?} Mortilas whispered to his elder brother, forcing his lips into a smile. 

{I have no idea,} Primus admitted, shrugging his shoulders once the light had faded. {But our new companions are so darling, aren’t they.  I feel like we should be protecting them.}

{I agree.  They do seem far more fragile than we are,} said Mortilus, glancing at the other three mechs that had crawled out of the pool after him. 

“Okay!  We’ve got to go now.  See you later, guys! And, you know, till all are one!” shouted Rodimus, even as he shoved Tailgate through the portal after Brainstorm and Rewind.

{Till all are one… what a curious saying,} Primus muttered to himself. 

* * *

“What did you two do!”

“Heh, heh.  Funny story, actually,” Rodimus chuckled nervously.  Ultra Magnus loomed over them, clearly upset.

“They went to the past, and met the Guiding Hand, it seems,” Megatron sighed, staring at the picture Rewind was casting upon the viewing screen.

“Yeah… and it turns out that our little therapist is actually Primus.  Surprise!  Oh, and the necrobot is Mortilus, and Tyrest is Solomus.  I’ve never actually met the other two,” Rodimus said, shrugging his shoulders.

The door to the bridge swished open, and a slim, orange mech made his way into the room.  His gaze was focused on the datapad in his servos, and he only looked up when he realized that the room had gone deathly silent. “Ah, Ultra Magnus.  I have a question for you about… Is that a picture of me?” His gaze traveled over the group on the screen, his helm tilting curiously.

“Why didn’t you TELL US that you were Primus!” Blaster demanded, his field radiating excitement. 

“Er… What?  I’m old, but I’m not THAT old,” the therapist insisted, his gaze drawing back to the picture on the screen. “But those mechs do seem strangely familiar.”

“Maybe he’s so old that he lost his memory,” Rodimus suggested.

“Yes.  I remember Verity mentioning that her grandfather had something called ‘dementia’ that caused him to forget a great deal about his life,” Ultra Magnus insisted.

“Um, no.  I’m sure I would remember being Primus,” Rung stated calmly, shaking his head.  “Now, about that question, Ultra Magnus.”

“Pssst!” Tailgate whispered loudly, waving Rodimus, Rewind, and Brainstorm closer. 

“What’s up, legs?” the prime asked, crouching down.

“We have to make Rung remember who he is.  But, um… how do we do that?” the minibot asked, glancing over at the unassuming orange mech.

“No idea.  Maybe Ratchet will have answers for us,” Rodimus sighed.  “Alright then.  Operation: Get Rung Back His Memories of Being a God, and come up with a better name for this operation later, is a go!”


	5. The Mechs We Thought We Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several mechs go back in time to stop the God War from happening. (set before they find out who the Guiding Hand really are)

“Is that him?”

“It has to be.”

“He’s like a really grouchy Ironhide,” Rodimus observed, taking in the mech’s chiseled features.  “I bet he could bench press a space ship.”

“Now that we’ve found Mortilus, how do we stop him?” Tailgate asked. 

The co-captain glanced over at the little blue mech, eyeing him up and down.  He wouldn’t be stopping anyone.  The sword-carrying mech behind him though — he was the real reason Rodimus had insisted Tailgate come along. 

“Rodimus,” Rewind hissed, drawing the flame-chested prime’s attention. 

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.  Cyclonus, Brainstorm, and I will hold him down, and Chromedome can do his needle-finger thing, and we’ll make sure he can’t start any trouble.  Primus is going to thank us for this,” the prime bragged haughtily. As if sensing that something was amiss, the blue-armored mech they were focused on began to turn around. 

“Adaptus!” a soothing voice called out.  It was strangely familiar, the crew of the Lost Light realized. A slim mech emerged from around the corner of the building, his teal optics focused on the hefty mech standing at the top of the stairs overlooking the vast, metallic garden. 

“Is that a sparkling?” Tailgate whispered, his voice shrill with delight.  All optics were drawn to the tiny Cybertronian cradled in the new mech’s arms. 

“He’s adorable.  Look at those tiny servos and pedes,” Rewind gushed, his camera focused on the child who was now attempting to shove his pede in his mouth.

The triple-changer bowed as the lithe mech climbed the staircase gracefully.  In moments, the sunrise-colored mech was standing before him, his lips curved into a slight frown.

“Wait a minute… is that Rong?” Rodimus hissed to his companions.

“It’s Rung,” Rewind admonished him.  “It seems to be.  His armor is more vibrant, and he’s got that strange, sun-like symbol on his chest, but it’s definitely him.”  The Lost Light group immediately fell silent as Rung began to speak.

“Imagine my surprise, brother dear, when I awoke to find that my youngest sparkling has been graced with a very… unique designation,” the therapist stated, his calm voice tinged with annoyance.

“He needed a name, so I gave him one.  You were resting,” the triple-changer insisted gruffly. 

Rung rubbed his forehead, before placing his free hand on his hip.  “Thirteen is NOT a name, Adaptus!  It’s a number.”

“We already have 12 other younglings.  It was as good a designation as any,” the mech, now known as Adaptus, argued.

“Sir-ee!” the sparkling cheered, reaching out for the other mech with grabby servos. 

“Yes, he is one of your sires, sweetie,” Rung commented with a smile, pressing a gentle kiss to the sparkling’s cheek.   

“Car-car,” the child said, turning his attention to the mech holding him close.

“He can’t even say ‘carrier’ right,” Adaptus sighed, rolling his optics.

“He’s only a vorn old,” the lanky mech stated darkly, clearly unimpressed by his companion’s attitude.

“Lord Primus!  Lord Adaptus!”

All optics were immediately drawn to the trio of soldiers that had managed to slip into the garden unnoticed. 

“The other lords have arrived.  They are resting in the council chambers,” the center guard announced, his back ramrod straight.

“We will be right there,” Rung (or was it Primus?) stated.  Turning to his brother, he settled the youngling in his startled arms. “You hold him for a bit.  He needs time to bond with his sires, as well.”

Adaptus eyed the youngling with an air of clear discomfort, even as the child began to tug at his chest plates. “Primus…”

“Don’t whine at me, brother.  I already did the hard work of bringing him into this world,” the orange-plated mech insisted, holding the railing lightly as he made his way down the staircase.  Adaptus followed, trudging down on heavy pedes.  Following the guards, they soon turned the corner, leaving the metallic garden empty… or so they thought.

The crew of the Lost Light practically tumbled out of their hiding place, gaping after the group in shock. 

“Why didn’t anyone tell me that Rung was Primus?” Tailgate asked, his blue visor beginning to brighten in panic.  “I’ve never talked to a God before.  Are we supposed to bow before speaking?”

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus sighed, putting a heavy servo on his shoulder. “No one knew he was Primus.”

“Is he keeping it a secret?” Rewind wondered aloud, searching through his video files for any indication that their little therapist was the creator of their race. 

“I’ve carried the matrix, and even I didn’t know.  In fact, I don’t think the previous primes had any idea HE was Primus,” Rodimus insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Perhaps he lost his memory…” Chromedome suggested, only to freeze when all optics focused on him.

“That could be possible,” commented Brainstorm, his mind already racing to find a solution if that were the case.

“Either way, I don’t think we’ll be able to take care of the Mortilus problem this time.  Not with all of them together.  Okay, new plan!” Rodimus said, giving his group a blinding smile. “We go back to the Lost Light, figure out the Rong/Primus thing, and THEN… come up with a better plan.”

* * *

** Bonus **

_(What if they had surprised the Guiding Hand while they were having a relaxing meeting in the garden with their newest demi-god?)_

A bright flash of light was the only warning they had before a strange group of mechs appeared before them, led by a mech in brilliantly-flamed armor.   

“Mortilus, we are here to stop your evil plans!” the gold and red mech shouted, pointing at the only triple-changer in the group.

“I’m Adaptus,” the blue mech stated, glaring right back at them.

“I’m Mortilus,” said a crimson-faced mech, who was holding a cooing sparkling.  His teal optics were bright with confusion.

“No, you’re the necrobot,” one of the minibots stated. “Oh my gosh!  Is that a sparkling?”

“Yes.  His name is… Thirteen,” the orange-armored mech next to Mortilus said, narrowing his impressive eyebrows at Adaptus.

“I still think Thirteen is as good a name as any,” the triple-changer grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s a number, not a name,” the rest of the group echoed in clear annoyance.

“Wait… you’re Rong… the therapist,” the leader of the new mechs stated, turning his attention to the orange mech.

“No, dear.  I am Primus.  Are you lost?  Have you been experimenting with new technology?” The lithe mech turned to address the triple-changer. “Brother dear, are they your followers?  Perhaps we should have the medics check them over.”

“WAIT!”  All optics focused on the black minibot with the glowing red camera on his helm.  “Are you ACTUALLY the Guiding Hand?”

“That is what people call us, yes,” the single opticed mech standing near the back of the group answered.

“Rodimus, this means that we’ve met most of the Guiding Hand in our time!  I can’t believe we didn’t know that Rung was Primus!  And Censere, the necrobot, is Mortilus,” the mech with the camera continued in excitement. 

“And Chief Justice Tyrest is…” the mech with the golden visor and white finals glanced at the only mech who hadn’t spoken. 

“I am Solomus,” stated the mech with the impressive chin. 

“That makes so much sense,” Rodimus groaned, rubbing his forehelm. 

“If they are the Guiding Hand, why have they kept it a secret all of these eons?” the intimidating purple mech asked in a deep voice.  Before anyone could answer, the mech known as Primus stepped between them.

“It seems we have much to discuss, visitors, and I would not wish to seem an ungracious host.  I will have my acolytes take care of Thirteen while we adjourn to the council chambers.”  The orange-plated mech beckoned the group to follow him down the path, toward the entrance to the garden. 

“If I had known we were having visitors, I would have worn my cape,” Mortilus sighed, rocking the sparkling in his arms.

“I’m sure Solomus would have worn his gaudy crown, if he’d known,” Epistemus said, nudging the mech next to him.

“It isn’t gaudy, it’s regal.  You only get one chance to make a first impression,” Solomus grumbled, turning his nose up in disdain.

“They like to argue,” Mortilus whispered to the new mechs, his lips quirking into a secret smile.  “But they’re actually very close.” 

“Ah, my acolytes,” Primus announced, as a femme and mech approached.  “We have a meeting with some unexpected guests.” Turning to the femme, he gestured for her to take the sparkling from his brother’s arms.  “Would you and Nova watch Thirteen for a little while?”

“Of course, Lord Primus,” the femme agreed, bowing slightly after gathering the child into her arms.

“It would be our honor, Lord Primus,” Nova agreed.

“Wait… are you Nova Prime?” Rodimus gasped, his jaw dropping open.

“What is a… Prime?” numerous voices asked. 

“Someone who bonded with the matrix.  They’re meant to lead the people of Cybertron when the Guiding Hand are… gone,” Rodimus attempted to explain.

“The Guiding Hand are fully functional, and will be with us always,” the mech known as Nova insisted forcefully. 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it, Nova,” the femme soothed.  “Perhaps our lords will choose to take a break from their responsibilities someday.  Although… I’m not sure if having only one leader is a good idea.”

“Quite right, Celeste.  I would be hesitant to leave only one person in charge of our entire planet,” Primus agreed, giving the femme a graceful smile.  Turning to the group behind him, he announced, “We have much to discuss.  Come this way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short ficlet I was working on. The naming of ‘Thirteen’ will come up again in future fics. The garden setting is inspired by a lovely picture I saw on Tumblr of Primus standing on a balcony engraved with his symbol, with a beautiful garden surrounding him. There is also a near-identical picture with his avatar doing the same. I can’t recall the artist off the top of my head, sorry. Primus and Mortilus seem the type to have gardens, but likely more metallic in nature. 
> 
> My headcannon is the 13 Primes were the actual children of Primus and one (or more) of his brothers. Demi-gods, if you will. Onyx is the special one, being the child of ALL of them. And, of course, Adaptus being an awkward sire/uncle. 
> 
> “It’s a sparkling.” (Primus smiles at his brother awkwardly holding their child)
> 
> “What do I do with it?” “It’s crying. Here — you take it!” 
> 
> (Primus sighs, and gathers the child up in his arms as his brother makes his escape)


	6. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewind has the ‘brilliant’ idea to repair Rung’s brain using stories. But this time, he starts with the creation story of Primus, Unicron, and the Guiding Hand. Skids is the one who truly gets through to him, but they soon discover that he has no memory of them or their quest. Instead, he actually THINKS he’s Primus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This will not follow the comic storyline.

“Hey, eyebrows.  It’s me. I shouldn’t call you eyebrows, should I? It’s not very respectful. From now on, it’s Ring — I mean Rang. It is Rang, isn’t it? Rang as in bell?” Skids asked, clasping his friend’s shoulder tightly. 

“That’s… not… my name,” Rung whispered.  The circle on his chest flickered brightly, even as his azure optics powered on. “It’s… Primus.”

The other mechs in the room stared in horror at the little psychiatrist, even as he began to slowly move.  “Good job, Skids.  You broke him even more,” Swerve snorted.

“What… are these?” the skinny mech asked, pulling off his glasses, and examining them curiously.

“Glasses. You always wear them,” Tailgate answered cheerfully, practically bouncing in his seat. 

“No — no, I do not recall ever wearing glasses.” The psychiatrist’s gaze flickered around the circle, trailing over each mech curiously.  “Who are you mechs?  Where are we? My head… hurts.”

“You were in a bit of an accident,” Chromedome stated.

“Understatement,” Ratchet grumbled, but his optics were fixed on the therapist.

“I see,” Rung sighed, rubbing his neck. His attention suddenly focused on the little data-gathering mech that was now standing next to the golden-visored mech.  As he watched, their servos slid together, clasping on the tabletop.  “I do not recall blessing your union, young ones.  Let us do it now.”

Sliding out of his seat, the therapist made his way to stand behind the lovely pair.  They turned to look at him, but he only reached down to take their servos, pressing them back together again.  Clasping his own servos around theirs, he said, “I can feel your love for each other, my children.  Today, I give you my blessing.  May you live, laugh, and love your sparkmate until the day when All Shall Be One.” 

“Great.  Another Rodimus,” Ratchet stated gruffly.  “Guess we should get you to the medbay, Run…”

The little therapist’s spark energy seemed to pulse through the clear glass circle on his chest, illuminating their clasped servos.  It flickered azure blue and gold, brilliantly radiant in Swerve’s darkened bar. As the light slowly faded back into his frame, Rewind and Chromedome could only gasp as they took in the golden markings now visible on the backs of their servos.

“What are those?” Tailgate asked, leaning closer for a look.

“I have no idea,” Rewind whispered, searching his memory banks for any knowledge of the strange markings on his servo. 

“Conjunx endura marks.  They are signs of commitment, along with my personal blessing,” insisted Rung, pointing to a golden sun-shaped symbol above the larger markings.  “Although, if you decide that you need to part, you will have to visit my brother, Mortilus.  He may have one of his priests guide you thought sparkmate counselling before agreeing to break the bond.”

“Mortilus?” All optics were on the lithe mech, waiting for an explanation.

“Of course.  And if you decide you would like to take on the responsibility of raising a youngling, let me know.” Rung raised a servo to his chest, resting it over his sparkcover. “We do have a planet to populate, after all.”

***

“So… Ring thinks he’s Primus,” Rodimus declared, his feet propped up on his desk.  Chromedome and Rewind were sitting across from him, clearly concerned. 

“It’s Rung.  And yes, he thinks he’s Primus.  But that’s not all,” the mnemosurgeon said, his servotips tapping at his leg. 

“Domey,” Rewind whispered, taking his husband’s servo. 

“I know,” the larger mech stated, smiling at his little lover. “He also insisted on blessing our union.  And _these_ appeared.”

Rodimus swung his legs down from the desk and leaned over it, his optics narrowing at the sight of the symbols inked into the backs of their servos. “He did that to you?”

“He put his own servos over ours, and then his spark began to shine brightly, and when he pulled away, the marks were there,” Rewind insisted.

“I see… Well, he’s clearly delusional.  He’s obviously NOT Primus.  Still, he can’t just go around tattooing people, so I’d better have a chat with him,” the prime announced, showing them to the door.  “Ultra Magnus and I will speak with him.”

***

Rung, as it turned out, was in the medbay with Ratchet and First Aid, being given a thorough examination.

“You seem to be fine.  Nearly completely healed,” Ratchet commented, looking over his charts again. “In fact, you seem healthier than I’ve ever seen you.”

“It’s like a miracle,” First Aid gushed, leaning close to peer at the therapist.  As he so rarely took of his goggle-eyed glasses, many people assumed they were part of his face. The slender mech had rather graceful features, especially when he smiled warmly. 

“Thank you, acolytes of Adaptus.  Your medical knowledge is always welcome,” Rung stated, getting to his feet.  At that moment, the doors opened, revealing a flame-colored mech, and his much larger, rather stoic, companion.

“So, here’s the patient.  How’s it going, Rong?” Rodimus asked, smiling confidently at the little mech. 

The therapist’s expressive eyebrows narrowed, but the smaller mech said nothing. Instead, he crossed the room to stand before the new, vibrantly-colored mech. Leaning closer, Rung let his audio receptor hover over the mech’s chestplates. “Oh, I see now.  I did not recognize you, young one, but it seems that you were chosen to bear one of my matrixes.  It is strange that I do not remember bestowing it upon you, and yet I can feel its effects on your spark.” 

“Ooookay,” the prime groaned, nearly face palming.  It was worse than they thought.

“It is clear that Rung is not yet ready to return to active duty,” Ultra Magnus droned, his arms crossed over his ample chest.

“That’s for sure,” Rodimus said, placing his hands on his hips.  “Okay, Rung.  You’re on medical leave until you’re feeling better.”

“My name isn’t Rung, it’s Primus.  It’s very strange that no one here seems to know who I am.  Do you not recognize my serial number?” the smaller mech asked, pointing to the number.

“Yes, it says 100,000,000.  A very impressive number,” Ultra Magnus insisted, proudly.

“Hey, have you always had two sets of antenna?  I only remember you having them on one side,” Rodimus suddenly exclaimed, pointing out the change to the therapist’s helm. 

“When did those get there?” Ratchet exclaimed, his gaze focusing on the antenna in question, before returning to his chart.

“I’ve always have two sets,” explained Rung, calmly.  “And my number isn’t 100,000,000.  It’s 000,000,001.  You’re reading it upside down.”

“Say, Primus, buddy… you mind giving us a moment?” Rodimus asked, slinging an arm around the lithe mech’s shoulders. “We’re just going to chat with Ratchet in his office.  We’ll be 2 clicks.”

“Of course,” the therapist responded, smiling his infinitely patient smile.

***

“Rung is clearly suffering from some kind of _‘Primus apotheosis,’_ only he doesn’t think he’s Optimus Prime — he thinks he’s Primus himself,” explained Ratchet, glancing out the little window on the door to see that Rung had retaken his seat on the medical berth.  He’d clearly discovered one of his secret compartments, as he was now examining a model ship with great interest.

“What do we do about it?” the prime asked, frowning.

“I would recommend going along with it.  But we should also be trying to get him to remember himself, through reminding him of his interests,” said the doctor, shaking his head. 

“I will see to it that the crew is informed,” Ultra Magnus stated. 

***

“Hey, Rung! I mean, Primus,” yelled Tailgate, racing to catch up with the lithe mech striding ahead of him.

“Oh, hello, young one.  I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your designation,” answered the therapist, smiling down at him patiently.

“It’s Tailgate!” said the little white and blue bot.

“It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, Tailgate.  I am on my way to a place called _‘Swerve’s’_ for a drink.  Would you, by chance, be familiar with it?” the older mech asked.

“Of course!  Come this way!”

* * *

**Bonus 1**

“For the last time, Rung, you are not the Celestial Architect.  You are not a god, or a demi-god, or a semi-god, or a mini-god, or…” Rodimus groaned, stomping his pede on the ground.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called the ‘Celestial Architect,’” admitted Rung.  “At least, not that I’m aware of.  Nor do I think of myself or my spark brothers as gods.”

“Then what are you?” the prime demanded.

“A Cybertronian, like you.  It is only when my brothers and I have returned to dust that our sparks will be reabsorbed into the depths of Cybertron to become Primus, the Life Bringer, once more. Until then, I am as mortal as you are… more or less.”

 

* * *

 **Bonus 2:** **Propositioning Mortilus**

Meeting the Necrobot was already something amazing in and of itself.  But hearing Rung greet him as Mortilus, the God of Death, was quite another matter entirely.

“Actually, my designation is Censere.  I know people call me the necrobot, but all I do is catalogue the dead.  I’m not THE God of Death,” the crimson-faced mech stated, peering down at the lithe mech before him.

“When we share sparks, you will remember…” the therapist insisted, pressing his servo to his own sparkcover.  

The necrobot reeled back in distress, crossing his arm over his chestplates in alarm. “Share sparks with you?  I am in a **_committed_** relationship — even if he IS likely deceased.  They never found his body,” Censere admitted sadly, casting his gaze to his flowers.  “As it is, I am still in mourning.  Honestly — What kind of mech do you think I am?”

“Um… the god of death and destruction,” Rodimus ventured.  The necrobot only gave him a frown of annoyance.

“I apologize, Mortilus.  You always were the most sensitive of us.  I am sorry for your loss,” Rung sighed, placing a gentle servo on the taller mech’s arm.

“It’s Censere… but thank you for your kind words,” the necrobot said, bowing slightly to the orange-armored mech before him.

Rung’s azure optics brightened.  “And your gardens are lovely, as they always were.”

“Thank… you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. I was tempted to write more about the crew 'pretending' Rung was Primus, but I kept getting writer's block. Rather than leaving it unfinished forever, I decided to post it as it is now.


End file.
